The Savannah tribune. [volume] (Savannah [Ga.]) 1876-1960, 1887-11-05

morning, az had not even heard of my
illness. He sent a letter to me, how
ever, but did not see it until many
weeks later.
Il grew rapidly worse, and gradually
the knowledge Of all outward things
passed from me. I fancy that l had a
certain consciousness, but not of mat
tiers around me. l was in another state
of being, in which the person acting and
speaking-aIways strangely speaking
was myself, and yet not myself. Then
came an utter blank, from which, awoke
after nearly three weeks of oblivion to
see my mother and the doctor standing
by my bedside The doctor said the
crisis was past and should probably re-
cover, but l did not feel any interest in
what he was talking about.
'The quiet days of convalescence fol-
lowed, and the doctor, seeing that was
very weak, regarded me seriously, and
warned my mother that relapse should
be carefully guarded against. used at
| that time, too, to fall into curious physi-
cal conditions that l suppose were
frances, in which l knew all that was
/ going on around me, but from which |
| did not seem to care to arouse myself by
moving or speaking. These periods
lasted longer and longer, but they were
not observed, and as they were rather
| pleasant than otherwise | said nothing
about them
zone morning I awoke from what
seemed to be natural sleep, and lay
with my eyes closed listening to sounds
that could not at first interpret; but
I slowly the knowledge came to me that
my mother was sobbing beside my bed.
| tried to ask her why she was grieying,
but I could not move or speak The
trance was upon me. l was sensitive,
however, and knew that was lying upon
a hard substance and not upon the com
| Portable mattress of my bed. | could
feel, too, very little covering over me,
and despite my eyellds being down the
gloomy darkness of the room could be
detected. Where in the world have
they carried me too thought.
Presently heard my mothers voice,
and knew that she was speaking to my
cousin Mary, who was staying in the
house with us.
'E'Poor Elma,'" she said. Il was so
sure that God would spare her to me.
She struggled through that dreadful
illness only to die quietly in her sleep at
last, 1t is very hard, Mary
I have often wondered since that did
not really die of horror at that moment,
as l realized like a lightning flash that
they thought was dead and had put
me in my coffin. They were going to
bury me. l strove hard to speak, but
the sphinx was not more dumb than l.
l tried to stir, but the rock of Gibraltar
might have moved as easily. Must my
life be 8moothered out in grave for /
want of a little speech or action now9
thought
:" 1T is hard, indeed, dear aunt, re-
piled Mary, but His will be done You
must arouse yourself. The undertaken
Will close the coffin in a few minutes.
Do you think Robcrt-Mr. Purroy-wil
be hereP
81 hardly think so now answered my
mother, YEARLY. Something must have
happened to delay him. lie was to have
arrived at home yesterday, but he did
not come, and I postponed the burial
until to-day. He had not heard Of her
death. Poor fellow! The news will
nearly kill him. There is one person in
the world, I think, who loved poor
Elma as dearly as did
80, Robert, Robert, cried, W tn
silent voice, come quickly. Ii you look
at me you will know l am not dead
u heard a knock at the bedroom
door Was it Robert1 No, it was only
the undertaken.
MAY close it now, ladiesr he asked
in professionally mournful but very bust
ness-like tones.
Nobody but myself knew that my
heart was beating, and even I hardly
knew it as the undertaker spoke. A sec
ond afterward it seemed to me that it